From the moment Kiyomi dried off the she-cat with a soft towel, fed her freshly grilled sardines, to when he at last settled her onto a flat cushion to rest; everything he did was done in such a caring mood that Emika wanted to smack him. Also, his smile which almost never left his face did not feel good deep inside her bones.
She gave a swish of her tail. [Stop fussing over me and take off your wet clothes! You might catch a cold, she thought.]
Kiyomi stroke her soft coat—a tricoloured coat in hues of orange, bluish-black and white—and noticed a small heart shaped patch on her left cheek. She couldn't bear his display of affection and tried to dodge the touch of his hand with a head swerve, a tummy twist, a bouncing tail and flying paws.
But that just made Kiyomi all the more determined, "What a playful kitty you are!" And before long he had rubbed every part of her body! Even her white fluffy bottom!
It bothered her. [I scratched you earlier, why are you so kind to me?]
Kiyomi chuckled, amused at such grumpiness on her face. And more tickles tortured her!
Looking at the raindrops splattering against the window, he caressed the little heart shaped patch on her cheek, "Little kitty, you may stay here for the night."
He planted a kiss on her nose. To Emika it felt like a punch in the stomach.
He rubbed the back of her neck. It got on her nerves.
Indeed, Guilt was a beast whispering angry words; sinking its claws into her heart and tearing it to shreds.
Behind the translucent shoji* screen, Emika glanced at Kiyomi on the other side. The warm orange glow of the lamplight cast his long shadow onto the room partition.
As he started to undress, the cutout silhouette spoke of his body: a slim and long torso solid like a soldier, wide shoulders, sharp cheekbones and slender hands.
Her eyes collected every alluring movement of his physique bringing forth echoing memories from their intimacy. She still remembered every loving words he susurrated under the wild cherry blossoms and the lingering warmth of his embrace under the moon's silvery sheen.
Now, nothing remained of this love but pain felt in full measure.
The tall silhouette flowed weightlessly away from the screen to a wooden desk below the window, and he just sat there like a piece of the night.
She could only guess from the black outline of his face leaning forward that, perhaps... Is he catnapping?
A whisker first, then a forepaw, she peeped from behind the shoji screen. Her heart thumped, even though she knew she was safe. After all, she was a mere little cat nonchalantly extending her velvety paws into one very long stretch, and a longer one, and another one; crossing the room with a succession of stretches, each one getting more drawn-out than the last.
Overstretched, her front paws slipped. Bam! Flat on her tummy. She stood on her feet, arched her back, then casually continued her stretching routine until she finally sprung onto the desk with swift elegance.
Well, Kiyomi didn't even flinch. Cats are indeed the best in martial art! she smiled inside.
His hand held a brush hovering above a white piece of paper. His eyes were closed: was he in deepest thoughts or perhaps asleep? She edged a little closer to see his face and gazed at his features for a while. She peered into the open cross-collar shirt revealing his collarbone and part of his bare upper chest. The nearness of his skin and his scent refreshing as dewdrops made her heart flutter and pleasant memories burst forth. That moment was sheer bliss, she wanted to steal a kiss.
Then Kiyomi black eyes opened wide abruptly! She got so startled her heart nearly jumped out of her ribcage.
When he was about to draw, he found that the black ink had dried. And anyway, it didn't matter. He couldn't draw her face. Putting down his brush with a loud clatter he wondered why. Eyes filled with frustration, he stared at the blank piece of paper.
His friend Jian would often teased him about "his amorous dreams", as he politely described it. "The longer you keep on denying yourself of the pleasure of women the more you'll have this type of dreams. It is your mind begging you to stop living the life of a monk. This city has reputable places filled with many beauties..." And the conversation would always cut short with a vociferous Li Ji waving a fist in the air, warning Jian to stop speaking such improprieties about His Highness!
Indeed, his recurrent dream didn't express carnal desire, quite the opposite.
That place between sleep and awake, that place where you should still remember what you are dreaming, that's where the woman whose face he saw in precise detail faded away and receded farther and farther into the background. And in the time that he blinked his eyes to a wakeful state, her corporeal presence had melted as rain into the sea; and she was only a faceless ghost.
He could only rely on his sense of feeling—the chills running down his spine, the dark and heavy sadness and the cold sweat pouring down his face.
Indeed, this was not a lustful dream but a nightmare.
Kiyomi's mouth scrunched, and a heavy long sigh followed: "I might as well give up tonight, and draw you instead little kitty."
In a stone mortar, he started grinding the inkstick in a circular motion, sprinkling a little water at a time until the desirable consistency and colour. With the fewest possible lines, the spontaneity of his brushstrokes started to capture the spirit and the liveliness of the she-cat.
Carefully observing his subject, he was quite sure that this cat had an appreciation for ink-wash painting. Well, Emika hadn't realised she was posing so still that not even a whisker moved. And what an eye-catching pose it was! His brush had a ponder: the calico cat sat straight but not stiff, the right forepaw raised prettily and brought at the side of the chin, head slightly tilted to the right.
"Hmm... You are truly a peculiar little cat." His eyebrows just casually arched. "What are you?"
Though he squeezed out a quiet laugh, Emika's mind surged sending tingles right to the tip of her tail. She had gotten careless by not performing like a real cat!
She could not help but recall the days at the palace when he used to gently scold her for neither staying still long enough nor looking graceful enough for portraits poses—so naturally, tonight, she only wanted to please him by giving him her utmost.
[How silly of me! Instead I should rather stick to what cats do best!]
Therefore, she had a dip in the inkstone, paw printed the papers spread out on the desk, and with a swoosh of the claw kicked off some brushes and drawings to the floor. Next, the inked paws leapt onto books of all shapes and sizes piled on the floor, and on the top of several heaps of parchments.
Kiyomi was having none of it, and he started flapping his sleeve on her face to chase her away. He looked at the calico cat and rolled his eyes, rather displeased. And, sure enough, Emika heard his cross voice:
"What a little scamp you are! So this is how you repay me after I fed you and gave you shelter? Bad kitty!"
Yet, the next minute, he half smiled while gathering the drawings scattered all over the tatami mats.
And then his gaze did not move.
A thought had just hit him: Why would I dream of the same stranger every night?
Li Ji and Jian kept telling him that she was a random creation of his imagination, whereas he himself was never more certain that this woman was made of flesh. Could she be a childhood memory from the palace?
It is strange how dreams make you wonder what's real and what's imaginary. One reason being that our dreams are composed greatly from the reality of life. The memories long dead and buried deep down into the dark room of our soul, along with the imaginary, are woven together by our unconscious.
And so Kiyomi thought it likely that this dream came to tell him something about his life that he was missing.
Emika followed his gaze and saw that he was looking at the wall with a darkened expression. She believed he was upset because of her and immediately regretted her bad temper. Her heart had vowed to never ignite unpleasant nor unhappy emotions in him. She had to atone for her sins, not acting like the tempestuous and silly girl she once was.
Kiyomi rummaged through the incomplete paintings. Hundred of brushstrokes obsessing on one feature of her face at a time. Amidst numerous attempts at drawing her nose, he realised that all of those different noses were more or less the same nose. His eyes darted everywhere and sorted out the drawings into piles. It was exactly the same with the eyes, the mouth, the cheekbones, the arch of her eyebrows, the contour of her face. Each drawing was like a piece of a puzzle and he would piece them together and hopefully make her face whole.
~~
* Shoji screen: a sliding panel that is made of translucent rice paper in a wooden lattice frame.
* Tatami mat: a type of mat made from rice straw used as a flooring material